


Very Solid Suggestions

by camerasparring



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Bisexual Bill Denbrough, Blow Jobs, Bottom Mike Hanlon, Butt Plugs, Drunk Dialing, Everybody Lives, First Time, Five Plus One, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Misunderstandings, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie is Gay and Still Watches Lethal Weapon, Stanley Playing the Concerned Friend, Top Bill Denbrough, let Mike get HIS!!!, that ISN'T EVEN A TAG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26837314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camerasparring/pseuds/camerasparring
Summary: Despite the big move to Atlanta— where he and Mike happened to find a place together; cheaper, easier, and a little less lonely, a new town for the both of them to start over— Bill’s been enjoying the extra time for friends in his life. He’s slowly working on a new novel, he’s going to individual therapy, couples therapy with Audra— they’re so much better off as friends, but Audra suggested they maintain their bi-weekly appointments to avoid any bitterness— and once a month the Losers get together, digitally or otherwise, to reconnect, drink and catch up.For the first time since he was a teenager, friendship isn’t hard to come by. But… romance? That book might be closed for awhile.Or: Five Times Bill Denbrough (Unknowingly) Got Permission, and One Time He Asked For It
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56





	Very Solid Suggestions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueerOnTilMorning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerOnTilMorning/gifts).



> THIS IS A BIRTHDAY/CONGRATS FIC FOR [QueerOnTilMorning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerOnTilMorning/pseuds/QueerOnTilMorning). It is massively late, but in my own defense, I started three different fics and eventually finished this one. I will ALSO finish a Reddie one that will hopefully be out by the end of the month. She just deserves it all!! Thank you for all you've done for fandom, for all the encouragement, and for generally being awesome. :)
> 
> Thank you to [Laser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpio_pit) for the VERY Mike-horny beta, thanks to the GC as always.

1\. Dan Lister, Esq. 

Bill takes a shaky sip from a glass of water where he sits in a fancy skyrise in Peachtree Center. His lawyer watches him with heavy, interested eyelids, flickering softly as his tongue rolls over words Bill barely hears. Then, just as Bill’s attention returns: 

“Are we done here?” 

And there’s really only one answer: Eh.

Audra left fifteen minutes ago, escorted out by her own icy-faced lawyers, her own copy of their divorce papers clutched carefully in her hands. She had smiled at him, albeit sadly, and though this was as amicable as could be— they actually have plans for dinner next week to catch up— Bill still feels shattered with an overwhelming sense of loss. 

“I’m, uh.” He stutters, now that his glass is empty and his throat is still dry. “I’m, yeah. Yeah, it’s— we’re done.” 

Dan eyes him, already armed with a tight grin and an overflowing briefcase. 

“Time to figure out what you really want, Bill.” He shuffles some papers together, Bill’s copy, sliding them across the glass table until they nudge at Bill’s hands. “You’re only forty. You could change everything on a dime.” 

“Yeah,” Bill agrees, since that’s what most of the self-help and post-divorce (and post-coming out) books have told him. “Yeah, thanks, man.” 

“A few dimes, since I didn’t lose you more than a car or two.” He laughs, head tipping back to stretch out his neck, and Bill grimaces in his direction. 

He stands up and straightens out his jeans and reaches across the table to shake his hand. 

“Thanks for all your help,” he says, ignoring the continued hiccuping laughter echoing through the room. Dan takes his hand and shakes it too hard in return, trapping him. 

“Gonna get on some dating apps? Try your hand out at the bars?” 

Bill blinks. He honestly hadn’t thought about getting back out there. He’s been wrapped up in the divorce, in therapy, in therapy with _Audra_ —

“I’m not s-sure, I—“

“You should! You deserve some free dating time man, really spread your wings!” 

“Oh,” Bill punches out. “I don’t know, with everything going on, I—”

But Dan never takes no for an answer. “Oh, c’mon, Billy boy, you’ve got time for a little fun!” 

It’s what Bill liked about him, all those years ago, when a no-name metal band tried to come after him for copyright infringement on _Hard Water Kills_. Well, they’re no-name _now_ , as it turns out, because Dan raked them over the coals until they gave up. 

Suddenly, Bill can’t remember why a relentless lack of empathy is something he found appealing in an attorney. 

And truthfully, he _doesn’t_ have much time, but it’s not like he’s not having fun. Despite the big move to Atlanta— where he and Mike happened to find a place together; cheaper, easier, and a little less lonely, a new town for the both of them to start over— Bill’s been enjoying the extra time for friends in his life. He’s slowly working on a new novel, he’s going to individual therapy, couples therapy with Audra— they’re so much better off as friends, but Audra suggested they maintain their bi-weekly appointments to avoid any bitterness— and once a month the Losers get together, digitally or otherwise, to reconnect, drink and catch up. 

For the first time since he was a teenager, friendship isn’t hard to come by. But… romance? That book might be closed for awhile. 

“I’ll think about it,” he tells Dan, trying to shake him off before a longer conversation unfolds. Or, god forbid, Dan pulls out his phone and starts giving him tips. He’s already late to dinner with Mike downtown. He wanted to go home and change— he sweated through this jumper in about five minutes and he’s not into looking awful for Mike. Mike always looks so put together. Warm smiles and autumn colors, no matter the season. 

Bill’s chest heats thinking about Mike waiting at their new “usual” diner for him, probably already ordering a plate of fries for the table. He’ll have eaten most of it by the time Bill arrives late, but Bill will order another and they’ll take the rest home to finish on the couch. 

Dan clears his throat, scratching out a laugh. 

“Well your divorce lawyer is giving you the green light.” 

Bill squints. “Yeah, uh. Thanks, Dan.” 

Dan smiles, his teeth leaching from under his lips. 

Bill finds his way out, officially single. 

2\. Stan

Bill has lived in a lot of places. Apartments, split-levels, duplexes, a house-boat for two months until his roommate partied too hard and sunk it while he was studying abroad, and, of course, several houses. Moving is usually his least favorite activity, and today is no different. But something about this new three bedroom— with a sprawling kitchen and hipster light fixtures already installed after Mike’s excitable trip to IKEA— makes Bill feel like a brand new man. 

Besides, he’s never had a hoard of friends to help him move before. Sure, he’d prefer to hire people, but there’s nothing quite like the sounds of your friends bickering over who’s carried the heaviest box up the rustic flights of stairs. 

There’s an elevator, but Richie and Eddie’s competitive streak knows no bounds. 

As soon as he’s arranged the lamps how he likes them, Bill makes his way back out to the hallway to survey the rest of the damage. There’s only a few more boxes, the couch from his old study, and what looks like some sort of exercise machine Mike brought. Just as he’s about to try his hand at the weird bicycle-shaped contraption, Bill hears the ding of the elevator arriving on their floor. 

He can hear talking behind the closed doors, and he recognizes Stan’s voice almost immediately.

“—and if you don’t say anything to him, you’re never going to be able—” 

Stan’s mouth slams shut as soon as he catches sight of Bill. Mike looks equally thrown, tall and sweaty in a white t-shirt and shorts, his mouth hanging open from the pause in… whatever they were talking about. Mike peeled off the flannel he started in, and Bill sees it thrown over the banister right outside their front door. He shakes away his urge to gather it up, fold it neatly, and lay it on the end of Mike’s already made-up bed for him to find later. He knows it’s Mike’s favorite. 

“Hey g-guys, I was just about to—” Bill starts, but Mike rockets out of the elevator and leans down to lift one of the boxes. 

“We-we were just discussing strategies, uh, uh for the rest of the stuff, you know, Stan’s doubting my stamina,” Mike says in a rush, his back muscles twitching as he lifts the box. “And maybe he should, if I have to take one more goddamn box of books—”

“I’m a _writer_ ,” Bill says. Mike laughs, a little too loud. 

“And I’m a librarian!”

“Yeah, Denbrough, how much money did you shell out for these?” Stan asks, his eyebrows already at his hairline. 

Bill blanches, air stuck in his lungs. He can’t even stutter. 

“That means a lot,” Stan says. Mike coughs another laugh, shifting the box in his arms. Bill gulps, watching the clench of the muscles in his forearms. 

“I was supporting my c-c—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Mike blurts, raising an eyebrow. “If you finish that sentence with ‘community,’ I swear to god, Bill.” 

Stan holds up a finger, then presses it to his nose. “Libraries.” 

Bill sighs heavily. “Libraries.” 

“And you can come visit your favorite librarian at a… library near you!” Mike calls as he takes the box inside. Bill watches him go; watches the wings of his shoulder blades press tight to the fabric of his shirt, barely flexing with the heavy weight of the box. When he turns back, Stan’s eyes are stuck on him. 

Bill runs his tongue over his teeth, shoving hands in his pockets. 

“They haven’t told him which branch he’ll be heading up yet,” he says, because he has no idea why else Stan would be… doing whatever he’s doing. “They’re understaffed in Fulton, and we’re closest to, uh… Central, b-but they’re closed for, uh—”

Stan keeps staring, one eyebrow lifted in perpetual question. Bill scuffs his feet, swallowing around the lump in his throat leftover from seeing Mike go all Superman on his belongings. 

“—renovations.” 

Stan sucks in a breath, crossing his arms over where his own set of patchy sweat stains soaking through his forest green shirt. 

“How’s divorced life?” he asks. 

“W-what?” 

“Are you dating anyone?” He plows on. Bill shakes his head. “Hooking up? Trying anything? Experimenting? Have you been with a guy before?” 

Bill almost laughs. The last time he and Stan had a heart-to-heart, Bill was awkwardly fumbling around coming out. They haven’t really discussed it since, at Bill’s vague insistence, and maybe that’s why he told Stan first. He knew he wouldn’t ask. But suddenly he wants to talk _now_? And he wants to start with _these questions_? Bill’s been looking forward to living in the same city as he and Patty, but he expected a bit more of a slow introduction. 

“I haven’t— uh. What- what is this about?” 

Stan bows his head. Takes a step forward, like he’s sizing Bill up. Stan’s only a few inches taller, so it doesn’t take him long. 

“Be careful, alright?” His eyes flick to Bill’s lips, and for one absurd moment, Bill wonders if he’s going to kiss him. Asking about experimenting? Being with other guys? Is that what this is about? 

Then he remembers Stan’s wife, and Stan’s overall demeanor, and the fact that Stan is constantly passive-aggressively roasting him— though, knowing what he does about Stan, that could be his love language— and thinks better of it.

“Careful with…”

“Mike’s a really good guy,” Stan says. He takes a step back, then wraps his hands around the exercise bike-thing. Bill hears chaotic feet hitting the stairs, and then the tell-tale bellow of Eddie screaming after Richie. 

“I’m not fucking _racing_ you up the—”

“Yeah, cause you’re already losing, sucker,” Richie yells back. Stan’s eyes find them as they reach the landing, and then turn back to Bill, pointing two fingers at his own eyes and then turning them on Bill. 

Fear and confusion soak clean through Bill’s whole body. Then he feels Mike’s hand come down and clap him on the shoulder.

“You slacking there, Denbrough?” Mike practically whispers, his breath hot on the tip of Bill’s ear. With Stan’s stare and the clenching of Mike’s fingers on his skin, Bill shudders. 

Stan’s mouth twitches. 

Bill tries to collect himself. “Y-yeah, I mean. No. I’m— Stan’s distracting me!” It’s a hail mary, but it gives him time to hike the exercise machine under his arm and make a run for it. Of course, the bike is half his size and about twice his weight, so he doesn’t really run as much as drag his flailing limbs through the door. 

In any case, it gets him out of the rest of that conversation. He spends the rest of dinner, crowded around a cardboard box and eating Chinese out of the containers, wondering why everyone is suddenly so concerned about his love life. 

3\. “Troy”

Mike emerges from his bedroom looking disheveled yet put together all at the same time. 

“Does this shirt, like… bring out my eyes?” he asks, and Bill chokes on the smoothie Eddie insisted he try from the cafe down the street. Hundreds of miles away in Chicago, and he’s still making Bill do his bidding. It’s disgusting, chunky and green, so there’s no love lost when it ends up all over the front of his shirt.

“What the f-fuck,” Bill sputters, wiping green sludge from his chin and _neck_ as Mike folds in on himself with a laugh. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” he chokes out. Bill waves a soiled hand, and really, the damage isn’t too bad. 

“No, no, Mikey, let me get a look at you,” he insists, catching his breath and trying again. He does a quick glance-over. 

Which turns into a more thorough inspection.

Because Mike looks _good_. 

It’s a simple outfit— a black sweater, grey slacks lined with pale white seams, hugging his legs down to his bare ankle, where a casual black loafer finishes it all off— but it’s— It fits. 

It certainly fits. And it certainly brings out his eyes.

But most things do that, now that Bill thinks about it. 

He simplifies that all down a little, and says, “Mike, you look great.” 

He runs a self-conscious hand through his hair; they’re set to leave in less than ten minutes and he’s got his usual flannel and jeans look going. Now with a side of green splotches. “Is this some special occasion or something? I thought it was just a regular dinner. I know B-Ben and Bev are gonna be there, but…” 

But _that_? 

Ducking his head, Mike peers shyly at his own hair in the small circle mirror by the door, shorn short on the top and shaved tight on the sides. He even makes coy embarrassment look good. Bill knows he needs to change, but also knows he doesn’t have anything that will even slightly match up to… to _that_. 

Okay, he should probably stop thinking of Mike as _that_. But… seriously. 

“Patty didn’t tell you?” Mike asks. Bill coughs up what he thinks is a piece of kale. 

“What? T-tell me what?” 

Mike squints. “She really didn’t tell you?” There’s the threat of a smile on his lips, but with the spill, the nasty taste in his mouth, and the fucking— the _outfit_ , Bill’s unintentionally thrown into a small panic. 

“T-t-tell… w-w-wha—” His throat itches, croaking out syllables with no real intention of making words; he looks around for his water and sees nothing but his smoothie. 

It’s been like this since Derry revisited, this resistance to unknowns and spontaneity. It took him a few months just to get over the spike of fear when his phone rang— he still refuses to answer for numbers he doesn’t recognize, but Mike assures him that’s pretty normal. They aren’t full blown panic attacks, but simple surges of fear that rattle him down to his bones. Memories of the feeling; memories he wouldn’t mind being rid of. 

Mike knows well enough by now. He’s crossed the room fast as lightning, his hand on Bill’s shoulder with a tight grip. His thumb digs right under Bill’s collarbone, but the pain is almost soothing in the way it grounds him.

“Whoa, whoa, it’s okay, it’s alright, it’s nothing, hey, hey,” Mike’s saying, his voice toned down to calm in a way that always amazes Bill in these moments. It’s much easier to meet him there that way. “It’s nothing,” he continues, and Bill’s body starts to slump in relief. “Ben’s just bringing this friend of his. It’s— it’s kinda like a, whatever, blind date or something.” 

Mike smiles, soft and honest. A wave of nausea crashes over Bill’s stomach. 

“Oh?” he asks, biting hard at the inside of his cheek. Mike pulls back, giving Bill’s shoulder a departing pat. 

“Yeah, Patty and Bev have been kinda psyching me up for it,” Mike says, his voice shaky, his eyes bouncing away. “It’s been— well. I don’t really wanna think about how long it’s been, you know?” He laughs, still shaky, and Bill laughs back, shakier still, because this doesn’t make any sense. 

Mike is dating. That’s great! It’s good for him to get out there! And from what he knows— from what he knows pretty _well_ , considering they’ve spent the last two months living together: eating dinner together almost every night; buddying along to every Losers dinner; cleaning the house together on Saturdays when Mike gets off work; even taking a Mediterranean cooking class now that Bill’s cut down on couples therapy with Audra— Mike hasn’t really had a serious relationship since college. 

Bill’s weird nerves are nonsensical. He knows how badly Mike longs for companionship. It’s just… is he really going to find that by going on blind dates? 

Bill shakes it off. Swallows again through whatever is rising up in his throat. Bill _is_ happy for him. That’s what matters. 

“I’m happy for you,” Bill says, just to drive the point home. Mike grins. They stare at each other for a few seconds, a few seconds for Bill’s stomach to act up a little more, but this time it’s a bit more fluttery. Weird. 

Mike gestures down at his outfit again. “So? Look nice?” 

Bill licks his lips and takes another look, just for good measure. 

“It’s—” Tight. Very, very tight. Not _too_ tight, but tight enough to get… the gist. “—great.” 

Mike’s jaw screws up, like he’s thinking of challenging Bill’s opinion; Bill knows that face. It’s like their late-night routine. When Bill’s up writing, and Mike comes in before he heads to bed, and Bill assures him he’ll hit the hay soon, just one more sentence, just a few more words to tie up the scene, and Mike stands in the doorway, rearing back his shoulders, because he knows that’s bullshit. He knows Bill will stay up until dawn, just trying to make sure something is written well. Written right. 

But instead, just like he does every night, just like he does most of the time, the twitches and rolling of his body settle into a radiant smile. 

“Good,” he sighs, like he actually believes it. He grabs the keys off the front table and raises his eyebrows. “That what you’re wearing?” 

Bill pulls himself over the back of the couch and groans. “I know, I know, I’m changing.” 

Bill’s costume change isn’t significant, but Mike assures him the red and black sweater Audra’s mother got him for Christmas is somewhat of an improvement. 

When Patty opens the door, her cheeks are already rosy. 

“Are you two matching on purpose?” she asks. 

Bill scoffs. It’s absurd to think someone might see them as looking _similar_ , considering Mike looks like _that_ and Bill looks like— well. A writer in a sweater. But Mike laughs it off rather pleasantly.

“What’d I tell you? Always copying my ideas,” he says, the lines in his face all creasing in Bill’s direction, his elbow bending to bop Bill right at the top of his sternum. Bill swallows again. He should have taken an antacid before leaving the house. Something’s going on with his digestive system this evening. Hopefully the meal is mild. 

Turns out, they’re the last ones to arrive. Once they turn the corner to see Stan and Patty’s dining room, the table is full, two neighboring seats empty between Bev and a brunette man Bill’s never seen before in his life. 

Before he can question it, Bev and Ben jump out of their chairs to greet them. They trade hugs and swap places as Stanley, Patty, and the strange man watch from the table. Bev smacks a wet kiss onto Bill’s cheek that he’s still wiping off when he hears Patty say:

“And Mike, this is Troy. We thought you two could sit together. Unless you’d rather sit _across_ from him, that might facilitate conversation a little better—”

“Honey,” Stan interrupts, pressing a gentle hand to Patty’s arm, “we talked about this. It’s fine.” 

Patty presses her lips together as Mike reaches out a hand to shake Troy’s. Bill reaches out as well, and then they take their seats, and Bill misses the beginning of their conversation, about Ben and Bev’s flight and Stanley’s work day, because his brain is putting together the pieces of _blind date_ and _attractive man_ until he finally comes to the conclusion. 

Troy is Ben’s friend. 

Troy is a man. 

Troy is here for the blind date.

Troy is here to date _Mike_. 

Oh.

Right! Right. Mike likes men. 

That’s… that’s fine. It’s not something they’ve really _discussed_ , but Bill’s been sort of… avoiding the topic since they’ve been living together. Since his divorce. Mike is one of the only people that doesn’t bother Bill about dating, and Bill likes it that way. 

And Mike looks… happy. A little nervous, but isn’t everyone nervous on dates? He’s wringing his hands around a napkin, and his leg keeps jiggling like when he’s watching the climax of a movie and shit is about to hit the fan. But generally, Bill would peg his energy as excited. 

Bill could tell by the way he was rambling during the ride over here; Bill can tell by the way he’s already rambling to Troy about his new job, about the photo cataloguing project he’s doing about Black Youth from the inner city; Bill can tell by the way his face lights up when Troy expresses a vague interest, which Bill doesn’t think quite hits the mark, because when Mike gets excited about something it’s like the sun is shining down on you, and all you can really do is soak it up and be grateful. 

Mike keeps talking, so Bill doesn’t pay it too much attention. He turns to Bev, or Ben, or Patty, and talks about his novel, and Audra, and the bottle of wine they brought that he found in the cellar of their London home. 

Except Mike keeps turning to Bill to confirm details about their apartment— three bedrooms, since Bill needs an office; sometimes Mike even uses it to do extra scanning on the weekend— or the reason for their move— with Mike’s travel bug running out and Bill’s divorce coming through, they thought it was the simplest solution— or even what life was like growing up in a small town in Maine as a gay, Black man— Bill can’t help with that one, as a bisexual white man who hasn’t really come out yet, but he smiles and nods, watching and listening intently as Mike talks about bullying and shuttering his emotions; he almost reaches out to lay a hand on Mike’s thigh when he gets a little choked up, but Troy beats him to it, and then Bill remembers it’s a _date_ — and most of the time, Bill feels pulled into every conversation as if he and Mike are a unit. 

Stan stares at him from across the table every time he turns away, having satisfactorily— or not— answered Mike’s questions. Bill pointedly ignores him and chugs glass after glass of red wine like it’s going out of style.

The sauce in the meal is tomato-based, and coupled with the red wine, Bill’s stomach is gurgling unhappily by the time they’re considering desserts. He excuses himself while Troy and Mike babble away and heads to the bathroom.

After washing his hands thoroughly and staring into the mirror for a few extra minutes to get his shit together— seriously, maybe he should start dating, if Mike dating is making him feel so weird— he walks out into the hallway only to collide directly into Troy. 

Troy startles, his thick, dark eyebrows bouncing up his head. He’s attractive, but maybe not Bill’s _type_ , though he’s not sure what that is quite yet. He looks smart and sleek in a blue shirt and black pants, black shoes, but not as well-dressed as Mike. No one can keep their eyes off Mike.

Even Troy, who avoids looking at Bill with great care. Whose been prickly with Bill all night. 

“Oh, hey, man,” Bill says neutrally.

This time, Troy meets his eyeline immediately, smiling with something behind it that Bill can’t quite parse out. He moves to walk into the bathroom, then stops short and turns around. 

“It was nice meeting you two tonight,” Troy says, and the very fact of him talking directly _to_ Bill is a little unnerving. 

But he should be nice. There’s no reason not to like this guy. He’s been perfectly pleasant. This guy might even be _dating_ Mike after tonight. 

That’s a concept Bill will have to get used to. But that’s a thought— or a process— for later. 

Bill shoves his hands in his back pockets and meets Troy’s smile. “Right, you- you too.” 

Troy leans in conspiratorially, his smile gone crooked, and Bill leans in too, just on instinct. 

“Don’t worry, I get it,” he says, then winks. No one has winked at Bill in years, and it sets him even further on edge.

“Get… what?” 

Troy scoffs. “The—” he motions his hands together in some double-fisted wave between their bodies. “—thing, the _roommate_ thing.”

“We do… live together, so, uh. Y-yeah.” Bill says, magnanimously. Troy takes another step toward him, and Bill feels his breath on his neck. 

“I’m just saying,” he says, bending back to check that no one else is around, then turning to Bill with a devious grin. “No worries, man. You’re going home with him tonight.” 

“Right,” Bill agrees, forcing a small laugh. “We live together.” 

Troy winks _again_ , then steps into the bathroom and closes the door. 

Bill walks slowly back to the table. 

“Going well?” he quietly asks Mike, while everyone else busies themselves with doling out apple pie. Mike shrugs with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Alright.” His lips twitch, then press back together. Bill shuffles closer to listen, the concerned crease present in Mike’s forehead. 

“You sure?”

Mike nods, scrubbing a hand over his face with a sigh. “Probably ready to head out soon.” 

“Oh, right.” Bill’s relieved. It’s been a long night. Meeting strangers is always stressful; Mike is probably tired. “Right, just say the word.” 

Mike smiles.

Bill eats his pie. He shakes Troy’s hand when they leave, and watches Mike do the same, ignoring the third wink Troy tries to send his way.

If a wink goes ignored, did it ever really exist?

4\. Mike Hanlon (kind of)

Bill shocks awake to the sound of his phone vibrating. He blinks the sleep from his eyes well enough to see the clock, a blurry one AM, and panic creeps across his chest. His back is creaky from falling asleep at his desk, but the word doc on the bright screen in front of him is empty.

He groans, then realizes his phone is still buzzing. 

Mike’s pumpkin patch portrait shines up at him, and that makes the panic spread. Why is Mike even _awake_? The only reason Mike ever stays up this late is to bring Bill— who has inevitably fallen asleep at his desk— some water, and to scold him for staying up. Then he grumbles his way to bed like an old man, and Bill watches him go while something clenches at his heart. 

Audra never checked on him; he appreciated the independence, but he also didn’t realize how nice it is to know there’s someone concerned about you. 

Clearing his throat, his swipes until the call counter begins. 

“Hey, what’re you doin’ calling this late? Everything—” 

A loud, echoing barrage of noise hits him before he can finish. That’s when it dawns on him: Mike went out drinking with Richie and Ben tonight. Eddie’s out of town on a trip, Bev’s been working late nights, and Bill— well. Bill and Mike aren’t a couple. Troy was probably busy, and in any case, Mike would never give up an opportunity to hang out with his friends in differing groups. 

“I like the mix and match,” he once told Bill, sitting cross legged while he waited for the chicken to bake, watching Bill finish up the rest of the dishes. “With so many of us it’s fun to see the weird combinations we can make.” 

“Okay,” Bill had laughed, scratching idly at a stain on his favorite coffee mug. “Weirdest combo. Go.” 

“Shit, Jesus, alright.” 

“We both know Stan would be there.”

Mike had reeled back in his chair, his feet hitting the ground. “Oh, I got it, I already know. It’s Stan and Ben.” 

Bill had just blinked, screwing up his face to imagine them together. 

“I hung out with them once. Ben kept saying he loved us and Stan said ‘That’s _nice_ ,’ and kept sipping his cappuccino.” 

“Wow. Sold,” Bill had said, while Mike nodded, his eyes haunted. 

Bill shakes from the memory to Mike’s voice finally busting through the speakers.

“—and you two already know what it’s like, so I don’t even know why I’m—” 

It’s muffled; patched together, cutting in and out. Bill pulls his phone away to look, but it’s not a problem on his end; he’s got full reception. The background noise continues. Bill has no idea why Mike would call him so late, much less from _inside_ the bar, but maybe he’s had a few too many and got friendly, like he did on Bill’s birthday. 

“Forty- _one_ , man! Forty- _wwwwwooon_!” Mike had yelled, prancing outside Stan and Patty’s house, fresh off mint mojitos and tapas out the wazoo. He’d spun around Bill’s waist, his hands clutching Bill’s hips, shaking him at will. Bill’s much smaller: it’s not hard for Mike to manhandle him. 

Bill had nearly laughed his ass off at Mike’s easy hands and high, bubbly timbre; the way he popped a bottle of the most expensive champagne he could afford and insisted everyone “save the first piece of pizza for the birthday boy!” 

“It’s hardly an impressive feat, Mikey,” Bill had told him, ushering him toward their Uber. With Mike’s wobble, he might have been worried he’d garner a bad passenger rating, but he had known Mike would calm down once they got in the car. He’s endlessly polite like that. To waitstaff, to receptionists, to the little old man who owns the coffee shop down the street.

But Mike had stopped short of the passenger door, suddenly stock still and serious, throwing Bill in the shadow of the street light. A finger had landed dead center of Bill’s chest, determined and painful. 

“Wha—”

“You got to see another birthday, Bill. That’s— that’s a good _thing_.” Mike’s face had sobered, even wobbled, under Bill’s awed stare. He looked out at the street. Bill had wondered if he was imagining Derry in that moment; if he had conjured up past dreams— past nightmares of where he thought he might have been instead. “I didn’t think you’d— I didn’t think _any_ of us would—”

“Thanks to you, we did,” Bill had said. Mike had turned back to look at him, and in the dark, Bill saw him blink back to himself. 

Mike’s voice, weaving in and out of the phone speakers, sounds similar to that night. 

“—can’t take it anymore! Can’t! Take! It!” 

Can’t take… what? 

But there are other voices, too. 

“S’not much of a choice,” Richie grumbles, a little more clearly, and that’s when Bill realizes this is a classic butt-dial. Or a drunk dial? A drunk-butt-dial? Mike has somehow achieved both at once. 

He wants to hang up. 

He should definitely hang up. He can call Mike in the morning, or maybe just set some aspirin and water on the counter in the kitchen and go to bed himself. 

He pulls the phone away from his ear, only to hear Mike’s voice whine yet again. 

“Why can’t I just _kiss him_?” 

Bill’s eyes pop open. His heart hammers in his chest. He wants to… kiss Troy? 

Mike continues. 

“Did you ever wanna grab Eddie and like… just… fucking _plant_ one on him?” 

Mike wants to kiss _Eddie_?? Bill’s face screws up in disgust, until he hears Richie’s voice come back on the line. 

“Oh, for sure, almost every single day, but I wasn’t gonna make th—” 

Someone yells something in the background, drowning out the rest of his sentence. 

Mike isn’t talking about Eddie. Richie’s talking about Eddie. Wait— Richie and Eddie are— 

“How did he do it? How did you _both_ —” Mike bellows, his voice crackling in and out, and Bill shoots out of his chair, as if the force of his height will clear up the sound. 

He really shouldn’t be listening to this conversation at all. But… they did invite him out drinking, right? He could’ve feasibly _been there_ for this. They’d probably be talking about the same thing! 

Then Mike’s voice chimes in, crystal clear, from the other end. 

“D’you ever just wanna be pushed down and _fucked_? Maybe not you, Ben, but—” A burst of laughter. A nervous sigh. “—but don’t you? I mean, don’t you want him to just—” 

Oh, god. Oh, god, oh god, they’re talking about Troy. Mike is talking about Troy. Richie is talking about Eddie, and Ben is talking about Beverly— they got together almost immediately after leaving Derry, or even before, if their little foray into the water of the quarry got them as far as Bill wagers it did— and Mike is talking about— 

Bill’s head is swimming. Mike wants to get— 

No. Don’t think about that. Definitely not thinking about that. Not thinking about Mike, naked and wanting, pressed down into the bed, legs spread on the white sheets, the curve of his ass lifting desperate into the air, just waiting for someone to— 

No. No. No no _no_. 

Bill’s mouth has gone dry, so he sprints down to the kitchen for a remedy. It’s not until the sound on the phone is echoing in their kitchen that he even realizes he brought the phone with him, still clutched in his sweaty hand. 

“—wanna have him push me down and, and, _and_ … _lick_ me, man, wanna have—” 

Bill chugs what water he can before he has to cough it back up. Because Mike… keeps talking.

“—deep and fast and really hard—” 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Bill groans, stirring strongly in his jeans. It’s a foregone conclusion that Mike can’t hear him. Could never hear him. He probably wouldn’t be talking about wanting Troy to fuck him if he could. Or maybe he would, Bill has no idea.

Bill had… no idea. 

Shame burns through him until he doubles over against the counter, his cock trapped tight between denim and the hard, cold surface. He rocks his hips up, groaning in relief at the pressure until a new wave of embarrassment hits him. 

Mike is still talking. 

“—a tongue in my ass, a cock in my ass, don’t you guys want that? Is anyone else longing here?” Mike finishes it off with a trite laugh, and Bill clenches his fists tight around his glass and his eyes tight against the wave of arousal until a slurring Richie yells:

“Not anymore man, not any _more_!” which is followed by a crash, and then a ton of jeering, and then the line goes dead.

Bill whines, deep and loud in the empty kitchen. He thrusts against the counter, just once, just for good measure, until he forces himself away. 

“Fuck,” he says, just once, just for good measure, and then goes to bed.

5\. Richie and Eddie

The trip was planned a month ago, but after the phone call, Bill almost cancels. 

Once he touches down in Chicago, he starts to think maybe he’s been overreacting. 

Mike hasn’t said anything since that night— didn’t mention the accidental call, or his feelings for Troy, or his, like, sudden and desperate need for a _cock in his ass_ — but he has been _acting_ a little weird. A little jumpy. Avoiding some eye contact, blushing, biting his lip in quiet moments between them. So Bill thinks maybe he knows. Maybe he looked in his call log and put the pieces together. Or maybe Bill is just seeing things. 

Eddie’s black SUV pulls up outside the airport terminal, just in time for Bill to walk out the exit. When the window rolls down, Richie pokes his head out like a shaggy, slightly balding dog. 

“Billiam, welcome to the Windy City!” 

“Thanks, Rich.” Bill hikes his suitcase into the trunk and climbs into the backseat. “Thanks for picking me up, guys.” 

“Pfft, you’re visiting _us_ , numbnuts, I’m not gonna leave you to the mercy of the airport shuttle.” Richie says, a wide smile and bright eyes. “Plus, Eds drives like a maniac, so it’s really no skin off my ass.” 

Eddie’s head snaps away from where he’s been weaving through exit lanes to glare at Richie. 

“It’s called being on the _offense_ , asshole.”

Richie is unaffected. “I’m gay, I don’t know what that means.” 

“Fuck you, you can’t keep using that excuse.” Eddie uses the hand not spinning the wheel hard to the left to swat at Richie’s feet flinging up onto the dash. He puts on a slightly higher, nasally voice, “ _I don’t drink tea, I’m gay_ and _I’m gay, I can’t watch a fucking Mel Gibson movie_ and _There’s no way I’m making it to brunch on time because I’m gay and also because I refuse to wear the watch you bought for me cause I’m a big dumb lug_ —”

Richie shifts restlessly in his seat. Bill knows this mode: they’re probably not going to stop for a while.

“First of all, _you_ were the one who didn’t want to watch _Lethal Weapon_ ,” Richie says, and _points_ , and Eddie stutters like it’s some sort of home run. Bill flounders silently in the back-seat. “And what was it you said last night? _I love how fucking big you are_ —”

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty fucking gay too, so why don’t you fucking shut up, you’re embarrassing the guest,” Eddie says, matter-of-factly, and Richie tips his head back against the headrest, throwing Bill an eyeroll and a pleased smile like he has any idea what the fuck is going on. 

Bill clears his throat. He kinda figured, but— 

“So you two are… gay?” 

Eddie’s head snaps away from traffic yet again. “Oh shit.” He looks like he’s considering thumping his face against the steering wheel, but decides against it, since they’re going 80mph on the freeway. 

“For sure, dude,” Richie says, cheerfully. “I find it’s easier to just let it fly than make a big thing of it. Not that it wasn’t a big thing. It’s a very big thing, scary shit and repressed emotions and all that—”

“He’s not your therapist, Rich,” Eddie grumbles. 

“—but if I just _blah_ … say it, the conversation usually moves on naturally and I don’t have to dwell on it.” Richie squints, drumming fingers on his thighs. “I guess I’m sorta dwelling on it now, but anyway—”

“I’m, uh. I’m,” Bill starts, closing his throat around the words. “I’m, like. Bi. Sexual. I’m a bisexual. I think. Yeah. That’s what f-f-feels, uh. Natural? I guess?” 

Richie practically cackles, shoving a finger into Eddie’s shoulder. “I _told_ you, dude!” Not missing a beat, he reaches back to pat Bill on the arm. It’s an awkward angle, but his enthusiasm makes up for it. “Good for you, man, that’s rad.” 

“Yeah, uh. Thanks.” Bill smiles, a little less tense than before. He tries hard to not to think of Richie on the other end of that phone call, talking about kissing Eddie. And fucking Eddie. And getting his ass eaten— was that what they were saying? 

“So you two are—” He throws up a hand in a vague gesture, but Richie catches on.

“Oh, yeah.” His wiggling eyebrows go completely ignored by Eddie. “Spaghetti here couldn’t keep his hands off me once we shacked up.” 

Eddie’s throat clicks, but he barely moves. “You’re one to talk.” 

“He’s just braver than me,” Richie says, and this time, Eddie turns to look at him. Bill’s in the back-seat, and it’s a brief moment, when their eyes meet, but Bill sees it. Soft, vulnerable, the crease between Eddie’s eyebrows slanting down toward his mouth, Richie’s jaw muscle clenching and unclenching. 

Eddie doesn’t say a word, but Bill knows that look. They’re in love.

Richie’s hand finds the back of Eddie’s head, scrubbing at the short hair at his nape until Eddie flinches out of his grip. 

Wow. They’re really in love. 

_Not anymore, man. Not anymore,_ echoes Richie’s drunken voice in Bill’s head.

  
  
  


Once Bill is settled in the guestroom— what used to be Eddie’s bedroom, which they only decided to abandon because it was smaller, “For a small little man, my little buddy, the tiny apple of my big ol’ eye,” Richie says, while Eddie wails on him, and Bill thinks it’s a probably a little too close to foreplay for them at this point, and that really puts a new twist on their relentless arguing— they eat dinner, and call it a night pretty early. Bill’s had a long day, the flight was exhausting, and honestly, he’s been feeling an overwhelming sense of sadness since the… well. _Phone_ mishap.

He can’t stop thinking about Mike, back home without him. Mike, back home, probably with _Troy_ . Mike, back home, cooking a meal for Troy in _their_ kitchen, while Troy watches on fondly. Mike, back home, eating dinner at _their_ table, while Troy listens to him talk, and maybe he winks, Bill doesn’t know, that guy likes winking. 

Mike back home, laid out on his own bed, waiting for Troy to come give him what he needs. Mike, back home, finally satisfied, drooling into the sheets, not thinking of Bill, hundreds of miles away, thinking of nothing but… Mike back home.

And that’s— 

Something. 

It’s _so_ something that Bill can barely sleep, which means he does nothing but tiredly mope around during their visit to the art museum, and their lunch at a nice cafe, and their dinner at a Mexican place that came very highly recommended by Eddie’s realtor, according to Eddie.

It’s so something that whenever Richie reaches over to grab Eddie’s hand, or rub softly at his back, or press an unsuspecting kiss to the edge of his jaw, Bill’s brain overloads. Tears come slamming at the edges of his eyes; he narrowly avoids them by replacing that feeling immediately with intense gratefulness— that Eddie is alive, that they have each other. 

He _should_ be happy. Two of his best friends found love. Together. Even more of them, actually! Stan and Patty— who seem to be more in love than ever, not that Bill has a barometer for that— Ben and Bev, and now Richie and Eddie. It’s a blessing. A diamond in the indeterminable rough of their childhood. 

And maybe… maybe what Mike has is love, too. That would be… good for him. 

He does end up crying, eventually— just a little— when they hit up the Bean right after lunch. Rounding the shiny corner, he catches a glimpse of Eddie shivering in the slight chill of the wind blowing off the rounded sculpture. When Richie pulls Eddie close, wrapping his jean jacket ineffectually around Eddie’s arms, and Eddie leans his head back against the big center of Richie’s chest, Bill’s eyes don’t dry up until they finally reach the restaurant. 

The lack of sleep means he heads to bed early yet again. Richie and Eddie seem unsurprised, and that makes Bill feel even worse about his sour mood. He just… can _not_ get Mike out of his head. And he doesn’t even know _why_. 

Mike is an adult; he doesn’t need Bill worrying over him. Bill doesn’t even know that he’s worrying, per se. He has no idea what he’s doing. 

He has no fucking idea what he’s doing. 

He tries to narrow down his thoughts to look for some context clues, and still ends up coming up empty. All he can manage to figure out is that considering Mike and Troy together makes him uncomfortable, and that replaying the drunk-dial makes him even _more_ uncomfortable, along with a large side helping of embarrassment. And perhaps a tiny dash of arousal, but that’s normal. Bill hasn’t tried his hand at sex with men yet, and the thought of it is… stirring. The thought of it with Mike is— 

But no. No no no. 

After a couple hours of tossing and turning, Bill rolls out of bed to hit the bathroom. When he sees Richie and Eddie, snuggled up on the couch, watching some sort of action movie that Bill kind of thinks might be _Lethal Weapon_ on their big TV, a vicious, inexplicable whine crawls its way out of his throat. 

Both Richie and Eddie startle up out of their seats.

“What the— _Bill_?” Richie calls, squinting his eyes toward where Bill is shadowed in the corner of the hallway. 

“Yeah, it’s… yeah. It’s me.” Bill walks pitifully out of the corner, startling them again, albeit a little less violent. Richie flops back onto the couch with a huff; Eddie presses a palm over his eyes.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on,” Eddie says, sitting gently in the open vee of Richie’s legs. Richie’s hand lands at his hip, and Bill’s legs go all wobbly. 

“I don’t, uh. I don’t— I just can’t sleep, I guess,” Bill says, taking his own seat. Eddie fixes him with a stare.

“Is there a _reason_ you can’t sleep?” Eddie asks, eyebrows lifting. 

“Yeah, or a reason you moped most of the way through our beautiful and delicious tour of the city?” Richie asks, sitting up. Eddie points affirmatively. 

Bill feels his stomach drop. “I’m _s-s-sorry_ , you guys. I’m just worried about—” Air fails to fill his lungs, but he swallows around it. They’re his friends. “I’m just worried about Mike for some reason.” 

“Worried? Worried how?”

“I don’t even know, Eds, I can’t— I have no idea. I just can’t seem to, uh. G-get him off my mind, I guess,” Bill says in a rush, wiping antsy hands through his hair, picking at what he now realizes are his boxers. He’s in their living room, freaking out, in his underwear. They’re probably two seconds from laughing at him. Pathetic, crying Bill, who’s been a sad potato sack they’ve had to drag around all day. 

When he looks up, they’re both staring at him with wide eyes. Richie opens his mouth, but Eddie thumps him in the chest with an elbow. 

“How’s living together been going?” Eddie asks, slowly. Bill’s thrown, but it comforts him a little, to think about it.

“It’s… it’s really good,” he says, and finds himself smiling. “It’s been fun. And really easy. He’s a little messy, but he’s a good roommate.” 

“Jesus, that attic was like a war zone,” Richie whispers, almost to himself. Bill laughs quietly. 

“He’s got pretty good style, actually. He decorated the whole… like, living area. I mean, you guys have been, you— you know.” Bill pictures the dark orange color scheme he never thought would work. “He’s great company. I never really get sick of him. And we cook together a lot, that’s been nice. I always got frustrated doing that, in other—”

“Relationships?” Richie asks, before Eddie’s elbow clocks him again, but Bill just smiles.

“Yeah... yeah I guess so,” he says, and that thought wriggles pleasantly around in his brain. Relationship might actually be the best way to describe their… arrangement. They’re working together, they’re becoming better people, they’re building confidence as new versions of themselves. Unfamiliar versions, at the very least. They’re at a phase in their lives where they need each other to grow. At least that’s how Bill sees it. And they lean on each other a lot. 

“It sounds like it’s going really well,” Eddie says, after a beat of silence.

“It is,” Bill nods. 

“So what’s the problem here?” Richie asks, gesturing back at where Danny Glover is paused on their television. That whine leaves Bill’s throat again. 

“There’s not one! That’s the weird thing— I can’t. I can’t explain it, I really have no idea what’s going on with me,” Bill says, rubbing at his forehead. “I guess I’m just not used to having such close friends? Or maybe it’s the shock of not being married for the first time in a decade, who knows.” 

“Divorce can fuck you up,” Richie says, and Eddie rolls his eyes. Richie flails. “I’m just saying, I saw you go through it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay, Dr. Ruth,” Eddie retorts. Richie falls back onto the couch with a cackle.

“That was awful.”

“I’m gonna get back to bed, guys, I’m sorry i interrupted your movie,” Bill says, lifting himself off the couch. He needs the sleep, anyway. He’s talking nonsense. 

“No, no, don’t fucking— don’t leave, it’s just—” Richie licks over his lips. Looks to Eddie. Eddie shrugs. “You just miss him, man. That’s natural. You’ve been spending all your time together.” 

That makes sense. Bill misses him. But that doesn’t quite sit right. 

“It feels— it feels like more than that, for some reason,” Bill says. It’s a process of talking out what he’s been thinking, what he’s been stewing on for the last two days. Talking always helps him, but he avoids it until the feelings are bursting out. It’s a bone Audra always used to pick with him— an island, a rock, a buoy floating out in the middle of the ocean of his thoughts, is what she used to call him— and no matter how hard he tries, no matter how much therapy he has, no matter how many friends are there to talk him through things in the middle of the night, it’s still a horrible habit to shake. 

But most everything has been easy with Mike, and that’s different. Different from how he’s used to functioning. How he learned to function. He doesn’t want to pull that same shit with Mike. He doesn’t want things to be difficult with Mike. 

He wants to talk. 

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Richie says, and Bill realizes he’s been lost in his own head.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m kinda coming to that conclusion myself,” he says, with a laugh. Eddie nods, scrubbing at the back of his head. 

“Talking helped us a lot when we first lived together,” he says, pointing at Richie. Richie’s face curves quickly into a smile.

“Oh yeah, we got a lot of _talking_ done in those first few months. Really good _conversations_. I was actually planning a long one for tonight, real serious, real _deep_ , but then—” 

“You’re not fucking funny,” Eddie tells him, before turning to Bill. “You just need to talk to him. Dancing around all the shit going on in your head is only gonna end poorly.” 

“And _definitely_ don’t worry about him,” Richie says, and both Eddie and Bill turn to stare in confusion. “I just— I’m just saying I’m sure he’s having a fine time on his own, alright?” 

Bill bites hard at the inside of his cheek. _Fuck_. Of course. Richie got quite the earful— the same one Bill wasn’t _supposed_ to get— at the bar with Mike. 

“Right,” Bill scoffs, waving a hand and finally making it out of his chair. He’s no more ready to face another sleep attempt than he was before, but he’s not sure why else he should keep babbling to these two. “I’m sure Troy is keeping him happy and warm.” 

Eddie’s forehead wrinkles. “Who the fuck is Troy?” He turns to Richie.

Richie just shrugs, his mouth downturned. Bill blinks.

“You don’t know Troy?” he asks, his heart kicking up in his chest. Richie shakes his head.

“I have never heard the name Troy before in my fucking—”

“Oh, is that the guy… uh, Ben’s friend? You were all at that group date,” Eddie interrupts, and Richie’s face drops.

“Oh, right, yeah, _that_ guy.” His expression tightens. “No, he’s definitely not with that guy. Mike’s into—” He stops abruptly, then says, “Mike’s not into that guy.” 

Bill blinks some more. “So who was he—” He bites his cheek again. “He’s not dating Troy? Is he dating someone?” 

Eddie and Bill both stare at Richie. Richie throws his hands up in defeat.

“Why am I suddenly the group gossip? You’re the one that lives with him!”

“I thought he was dating Troy!” Bill yells, because he’s yelling now, apparently. 

“Who the fuck is— oh. Right, no, what—” Richie shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses. Bill tries to calm his heart. It’s just that… Mike’s _not_ dating Troy? Why does that— why does Bill feel like that makes things different somehow? “No, last I heard, Mike was very-un-blissfully single.” 

“What does that mean?” Eddie asks. There doesn’t seem to be much pillow talk happening in this house. Then again, maybe Richie was protecting Mike’s privacy. Drunk secrets are to be kept under all circumstances. Even Trashmouth Tozier knows that. 

“He just— I just sent him a few things to get along during his time alone, is all! A man deserves some toys,” Richie blurts, shoving himself back onto the couch and crossing his legs in a sort of forced-casual move. 

“Jesus fuck, Rich,” Eddie groans, but Bill’s mind blazes hot. A fire inside his skull, all his limbs electrified.

Richie starts laughing quietly, grabbing at the discarded bowl of popcorn and the remote. Bill’s stuck in a loop, Mike’s voice running like a broken record in his head. But _not_ about Troy. 

_Why can’t I just kiss him?_

_Don’t you want him to just—_

_Wanna have him push me down—_

_Is anyone else longing here?_

Maybe about— 

Maybe about _him_? 

“I’ll, uh— I’ll see you guys in the morning, then,” Bill says, skipping awkwardly toward the bathroom as his cock fills out in his boxers. 

“Just talk to him!” Eddie yells after him, and Bill throws him a wave as he closes the door behind him. “No more avoiding!” 

_Not anymore_.

+1

The trip home is the longest flight Bill has ever been on. There’s turbulence, a crying baby, and two chatty neighbors, since he switched at the last minute and had to settle for Coach. 

At least Richie and Eddie were understanding.

A little _too_ understanding, since Richie couldn’t stop winking, and Eddie couldn’t stop saying disturbingly supportive things, but they mean well. And they’re in their honeymoon phase. And who knows, maybe Bill will be there soon. 

But he’s getting ahead of himself. 

It’s just that— he’s been thinking. Quite a lot, actually. And now that there’s no Troy in the picture, Bill’s pretty sure he knows where this line of thought is leading him. He’s no longer out there, floating in a sea of his own confusion. He’s got a goal.

Asking Mike Hanlon out on a date. 

Sure, he plans on having a conversation first— maybe even apologizing for the phone thing, since he’s felt like the truth is threatening to crawl out from under his skin at any given moment, and he’s not willing to start a relationship with a lie hanging over their heads— and then, given how that goes, making a soft, gentle, and equitable move. 

Unfortunately, in all this intense and intelligent thought, Bill completely forgets to text Mike and tell him he’s caught an earlier flight, or that he’ll be home two days earlier than he planned.

Not until he’s around the corner from their place, that is. As he’s hitting send, Bill isn’t quite sure what is wrong with him. Just, like, in general. But that’s not a good line of thought right before he’s about to open his heart and be vulnerable with one of his best friends, so he tucks it away for later. 

As soon as he opens the door, he hears it:

A deep, low-throated, strung-out moan. 

He freezes. It was probably his shoes on the floor. It gets creaky when you’re careless about it. 

Another, thinner groan. 

For one, mind-numbing moment, Bill really thinks it might be Troy. Maybe Mike got totally fed up with the lack of, uh, _cock in his ass_ , and went looking for the first guy he knew might be interested. 

But then another, louder moan, and Bill knows the truth.

It’s all Mike. 

He stumbles around in the doorway for a few moments, dropping his bag, toeing off his shoes, hanging up his jacket in the coat closet, doing anything he can to pretend this isn’t happening. But try as he might, he can’t ignore it. And it’s not going to get better anytime soon. Mike clearly hasn’t checked his phone— he has no idea that Bill was on his way home early, or that he wouldn’t be alone tonight. 

Then he hears Mike moan, drawn-out and… beautiful, and he unconsciously drifts down the hallway. Toward Mike’s room. 

His feet carry him there quicker than he realizes, until he’s almost right outside the door. Naturally, the polite thing to do would be to alert Mike to his presence, right? To let him know he’s there. To let him know he’s not alone. 

If he doesn’t want to be. 

“Hey, uh—” he clears his throat loudly. Mike’s voice— previously whimpering— cuts off suddenly. “Hey, I got home early!”

He’s going for totally normal, if not a touch enthusiastic to be home, but it comes out more like a pathetic screech. On the other side of the door, he hears a quiet gasp, followed by complete silence. Until Mike clears his own throat.

“Uh— Bill, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, no, please, Mikey, I— you don’t have to apologize, I didn’t know I’d be, uh, interrupting…”

“Shit, Bill—”

Bill pounds his head against the door. “I didn’t mean— Listen. I was actually coming home early to talk to you, and I have horrible fucking timing, but I wanted to tell you that I couldn’t stop thinking about you during my whole trip, and it actually kinda ruined it.” He heaves a deep breath. “You kinda ruined my whole trip, Mike.” 

He laughs, to himself, to the door, hopefully to Mike, if he hasn’t jumped out the window by now. 

“Richie and Eddie practically had to push me on a plane, but I’m— I really wanna talk to you, Mike.” This time, the air is flowing easily. He can’t even say he’s scared, really. He just wants Mike to know. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

“Bill—” 

“I’ll give you, uh—”

“Bill, come in,” Mike says, loudly. 

Bill’s brain stutters over the command, but his hand finds the doorknob without hesitation. The door swings openly slowly, until he’s met with the sight of Mike completely naked.

He’s perched on the edge of the bed, legs hanging off and slightly spread, his cock long and hard, clenched tight at the base of his fist. Bill’s mouth floods with saliva, and suddenly his pants are achingly, uncomfortably tight. He was already fattening up at the sound of Mike’s voice, rough and demanding, if not a bit shy. 

“Jesus,” Bill breathes, his eyes bouncing from spot to spot: Mike’s hands, Mike’s cock, the smattering of hair over Mike’s chest, the flex of Mike’s arms. The soft, pleading look on his face. The shade of fear behind it all, like Bill might actually reject him. Like Bill might think he’s gone too far. 

“Bill—”

“You look…” Bill starts, unable to keep it in; un _willing_ to keep it in any longer. Not when Mike is right there, wanting him like this. He fails to remember where any shred of hesitancy came before this. He doesn’t feel any of it anymore. 

“You look so fucking good,” he finishes.

Then takes a few steps, settles between Mike’s open knees, and drops down onto his own. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mike mouths, wet, his bottom lip tugged further where he’d already been biting it. “Bill, are you—”

“I’ve been thinking about this,” Bill says, because now that he _really_ thinks about it: this is what has been on his mind. Not some other guy between Mike’s legs; some other guy giving Mike what he needs. “I want to give you what you need.” 

His total lack of experience almost smacks him upside the head as soon as he ducks down to take the tip of Mike’s already-leaking cock into his mouth, but the _look_ of him, the _smell_ of him, the way his dark hair gathers at the base of where his fingers are twitching to hold on drive him straight through his nerves; when those same fingers come up to lock in the shag of hair at the back of Bill’s head, all he feels is a pure and ravenous need to fill his mouth. 

It’s strong, the taste, the feel, the heavy, prodding weight of Mike’s cock. It’s hot to the touch. Bill rolls his tongue around the head, getting used to it. But the longer he laps around the sides, or teases the tip with his thumb, or bobs shallowly, the more he wants. And Mike is responding beautifully, gasping above him, watching him with hungry eyes. Bill wants to know what he’s thinking. Bill wants to know everything about him.

Just as soon as he makes him come. 

“Bill, you gotta— you gotta gimme a sec, Jesus,” Mike breathes, his hips jerking as Bill pulls off, his muscled thighs twitching right under Bill’s hands. His skin is so soft, yet rougher than Bill’s used to, covered with a layer of hair. There’s a lot about Mike that Bill isn’t used to. 

Bill likes it. 

“Y’okay? Is this okay?”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, man, I invited you in here,” Mike says, his white teeth shining with a nervous smile. His face is flushed, his pupils blown. Fuck, Bill missed him. 

“Oh, right,” Bill huffs, licking the excess spit off his lips. It’s then he realizes how backward he’s gone about this. And he— “Can I kiss you?”

Mike’s eyes bug, then soften, then go heavy as he nods. Bill leans up, creaking his knees on the floor until there’s a brief space between them. When he pauses, Mike’s head rolls back with a laugh, his hand cupping fast and hard around the back of Bill’s neck, and he’s pulled into a kiss that’s all breath and teeth and then melting and hot, wet, slide. Mike’s cock is bouncing, smearing against his shirt. Mike’s hands are grabbing, pulling at the edge of it, and Bill helps him pull it off so they can kiss some more.

Bill likes kissing Mike. He likes it immediately. He likes it slow and gentle, how they start, and he likes it rough and fast, where it leads soon enough, biting and licking into each other, until the press of Mike’s cock between them becomes too much. Bill reaches down to cup a hand around it. Mike hisses in his mouth. 

“You really must’ve been workin’ yourself over, huh?” he asks, easing his tongue out to tease around the head. Mike watches him with an open mouth. 

“I, uh— yeah, I— actually…” Mike turns out of Bill’s grip to lean to the side, where he wraps his hand around something small and white. Suddenly, Bill hears— and _feel_ — a strong vibration licking up between them. It doesn’t take him long to find the source. Not when Mike starts _shaking_ , kicking up his foot from the floor with a moan. 

“Are you— is that—”

“A vibrating plug, yeah,” he says, then pulls away with a gasp, falling onto his back on the bed. Bill sees it then, too; a wide blue base held tight against Mike’s hole, nudging just up under his balls. Bill’s kind of surprised he didn’t notice it before, but— he had other things on his mind. And in his mouth.

“Richie sent it to me, _nngghh_ , in a, uh— a little gift box thing. It came with this, too,” Mike says, pointing up to his night-stand, where a suction cup dildo is sitting up straight on the surface. 

“Holy shit,” Bill says, both at the size of the dildo, and at the writhing, shuddering motions of Mike’s body as he’s milked from the inside out. His hand is wrapped back around his dick, stroking in smooth movements: up over the head, down with the moisture from Bill’s mouth. He pays special attention to the head, again and again, flicking his hand in a downward motion that Bill tries to commit to memory. 

After a minute of study, he swoops back in to take Mike into his mouth and help finish the job. He’s not going to give up an opportunity to see— and _taste_ — Mike come. He’s brand-new at this. So what if he’s taking the advantage just this once? Soon he’ll learn how to open Mike up on his fingers, like Mike probably did to himself earlier. Then he’ll sit inside, shifting in and out, pressing Mike exactly where he wants, sucking his cock, just like he’s doing now. 

It takes under a minute for Mike to come, and despite the help, Bill feels proud of himself. He doesn’t gag on the onslaught of come in his mouth, but swallows it down hungrily, imagining Mike doing the same thing to him. As soon as he’s free and clear, he pops off and eyes the dildo.

“You’re not using _that_ thing,” he says, and Mike gives a breathless laugh. It rips from his throat when Bill grabs hold of his strong, sexy thighs and tries to flip him over in one move. 

Mike’s… significantly bigger, and stronger, so Bill doesn’t quite manage. He’s viscerally reminded of trying to drag Mike’s exercise bike on moving day. He might want to start actually using that thing. 

Mike’s eyes glaze over.

“You trying to manhandle me, Denbrough?” he asks, shifting his weight around, teasing. His cock is still hard, slightly shiny and bending toward his stomach. He hikes a leg up to remove the plug, hissing as the head stretches him. Bill’s breathless, hard and dripping in his jeans, so he grinds his palm against his erection. All the muscles in Mike’s face relax, just watching him. “You gonna give me what I need?” 

“ _Mike_ —”

“Do it,” he insists, flipping himself over and bracing his feet on the floor. His face is buried into the comforter, his hips bent back, and Bill _throbs_ in his jeans. “Fuck me, Bill, _please._ ” 

“Fuck, yes, yes.” Bill rips off his belt and hardly has his pants down his thighs by the time he’s found the lube and condoms in the night-stand. He takes himself in hand, but then thinks better of it— he doesn’t need the extra stimulation. Just the suggestion of Mike, bent over the edge of the bed, ass in the air, already wet and open, begging for Bill to fuck him—

No. No no no, he has to stop thinking about it. He’s going to fucking blow. 

He clenches his eyes shut, _hard_ , breathing carefully through his nose. 

“Bill, c’mon, want you,” Mike says again, and Bill’s resolve breaks. Lining up behind him, crouching his knees slightly— this is going to fucking _hurt_ tomorrow, but Jesus Fucking Christ is it worth it— he pours the lube over his dick, then pauses— 

_Lick me… deep and fast and really hard… a tongue in my ass…_

—and leans over further to tongue over Mike’s twitching hole. Mike’s leg kicks in his grip, his body going pliant under Bill’s mouth, where Bill is circling his puckered rim and testing the dip of licking further inside. He pulls back to hock some spit at where he’s doing his work, slobbering best he can to make the slide even dirtier.

Bill wants to devour him, wants to eat him into the bed. His wet cock presses against the inside of Mike’s thigh, and Bill breathes the shock of pleasure into Mike’s hole. 

“ _Shit_ , that’s good,” Mike moans, craning his head back to watch. It spurs Bill on— the hot, fevered, dark stare; the amazed look in his eyes as Bill goes faster; the light touch of Mike’s hand on the back of his head, pushing him closer— until he can’t take it anymore. 

“Alright, okay, I need to fuck you.” Bill presses one more kiss to his hole as Mike whines.

“You do, but this is also, really, _really_ good.” He’s flushed and smiling, dopey-eyed and half-way to a laugh. “You know, just in case you wanna finish up on that thought later.” 

Bill’s hand comes down to land a smack on Mike’s ass before he even realizes it. Mike jumps, and _whines_ , and then laughs, and Bill knows he’s completely and utterly in love. His mouth opens, sticky and raw, but then Mike growls out, “C’mon baby,” and it dies on his lips.

They’ll have plenty of time. 

That is, until a few seconds later, when he’s pressing slowly into Mike’s ass, guiding his cock and taking his time, even though all he wants to do is push and _go_. When he’s bottomed out, with Mike settling soft and eager underneath him, his arms winged out to the sides, grasping at blankets and his discard plug, all the words tumble out of him in a rush. 

“Fuck, Mikey, I wanted you so bad. You feel so fucking good,” he gasps, and Mike mirrors him, leaning his weight back so his spine is pressed perfectly down the center of Bill’s chest. “I l—” He shifts his hips, trying to hold it in, but it’s impossible; now that he knows it, he can’t help it. “Jesus, I _love_ you.” 

“ _F_ — _fuuu_ — Bill, _Bill_ , it’s okay, it’s okay, keep going,” he says, he reassures, he whispers, and Bill hears it, hears the hesitancy, the worry that Bill’s saying it in a moment of passion. The overwhelming sadness of the thought, coupled with the possibility of Mike experiencing this before— an aborted love declaration— presses those familiar tears to the edge of Bill’s vision. 

“I’ve got you,” he says instead, moving his hips back to pull out, then thrusting in with one solid push. “I’ve got you, Mikey, I want you.” 

Bill speeds up, punching out noises from Mike with every thrust. He’s oversensitive, crying out uncontrollably as Bill really starts to give it to him. Bill’s always loved the sounds of skin coming together, and with Mike it’s no different: the slapping, rhythmic groaning of them fucking is enough to make him come in seconds. Knowing it’s Mike under him, _with_ him, reacting so beautifully to every shift and slide is sending him to the moon.

“More, more, more, more,” Mike pleads. Bill catches his breath with a pause before complying, snapping his hips brutally as Mike reaches under himself to grab at his cock. Bill sees the jerking of his arm, the frantic pulling as he gets closer, and then he feels it, too. 

“Oh fuck, you’re—” he groans as Mike clenches around him. Mike reaches back for his hand.

“Touch me.” He pulls Bill’s hand around, and Bill gasps at the feel of him, hot and sticky, from Bill’s mouth, from the lube, from the pre-come leaking from the tip. Bill swipes a finger over it and pumps just like he saw Mike doing before— over the head and down, up over the head and down again. 

His hips stutter in the concentration, until Mike starts throwing his ass back against Bill’s cock to remind him. 

“Touch me and fuck me harder,” Mike says, and Bill tries for a laugh, breathless as he is. 

“Have I told you I love you?” He kicks his hips into gear, and that familiar, blissful sound fills the room. “Because I really— _hah_ , fuck, I _really_ fucking love you.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Bill says. He slows down to grind, teasing at the head of Mike’s cock. He’s a few thrusts away from coming; he knows it, can feel it swirling through his stomach, down to his balls. Then Mike says:

“Prove it.” 

And Bill summons all the energy he has to do just that. 

Turns out, Mike was about as close as Bill was, since it only takes those few fated snaps of Bill’s hips to bring them both hurtling over the edge. Mike breaks first, covering Bill’s palm and fingers with come where they’re flicking over his cock. The clamping tight cling of his hole sends Bill there next; his undignified whining will ring in his memory for the foreseeable future, but Mike pets lazily over his thigh as he’s riding it out. Bill blearily hears him saying, “Good, baby,” and “Fucked me so good,” and “Just what I need,” before he collapses both of them firmly into the mattress, and then he doesn’t hear much of anything for a good few minutes.

They turn on their sides, both sighing as they come down. 

“Well I definitely didn’t expect you home early,” Mike says, cuddling back so he’s pressed tightly into Bill’s chest. “But I also did not expect _that_ at all.” 

Bill heaves a laugh, gripping his arms a little tighter. “Yeah, I think it was unexpected all around.”

“You really couldn’t stop thinking about me?” Mike asks, and Bill hates the twinge of surprise in his voice. That’s when a cold wave of reality hits him: he came here to talk. Instead he burst in, sucked Mike’s cock and fucked him without a conversation. 

“Yeah, uh—” Bill swallows. “I’ve been thinking about you pretty much non-stop since, uh. That night you went out with Ben and Richie.” 

He feels Mike’s body tense, only slightly. “Why— why that night?” 

“You, uh. You accidentally, um. Called me. That n-n-night.” 

“I called you,” Mike says, his voice steady. Bill suddenly regrets not shifting them around so he can see Mike’s face.

“Yeah, seemed like a butt dial, but I wasn’t sure, and then I heard some, uh. I heard you _talking_ —”

“You… wait, wait, wait,” Mike says, releasing from Bill’s arms and sitting up on the bed. “What did you hear… exactly?” 

Bill squints, his mouth dropped open, wracking his brain until he inexplicably lands on, “Some really solid suggestions?” 

Mike stares, his face slack, his expression blank while Bill turns red as a tomato. He can’t believe he fucked this up. He can’t believe he was so close to having what he finally found he wanted and he’s— 

Laughing. Mike is laughing. It finds his eyes quickly, crinkling up in the corners while his mouth bellows and curls around the laughter, his head thrown back in embarrassment or joy or maybe just plain-ol’ exasperation, but whatever it is, Bill feels it, too. A mix of them all, perhaps, or maybe just the joy, because Mike turns back over to resume their position, pulling them further up the bed until they’re spooning and Bill’s gulping laughter into his neck.

As the feeling returns to Bill’s extremities, he contemplates the actions that somehow led him here. For the past several months, he’s been completely oblivious to all of the signs leading him right here, cuddled up in post-coital numbness with Mike Hanlon. He ignored the subtle— or not so subtle— advice of his friends, the “random” stomachaches that somehow only accompanied Mike’s perceived dating life, the feeling of emptiness that plagued him whenever he and Mike spent time away. 

This morning, he woke up clueless, hard and alone in a guest bedroom in Chicago. Tomorrow— he hopes— he’ll wake up in Mike’s bed. 

Bill tangles their fingers together. He sees a smile turn up on Mike’s face from where he’s kissing at his neck. 

“Mind if I crash here tonight?” he asks, his heart strumming hard in his throat. But Mike’s mouth curves further, until he turns his head back to smack a kiss to Bill’s cheek.

“You better.” 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As Laser said, the true summary of this fic is: Every day Mike puts on his gay little flannel and does his gay little tasks in his gay little IKEA apartment with his gay little roommate. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and happy happy birthday/congratulations to my Hanbrough bud in crime :) 
> 
> I have written a couple other Hanbrough fics, and like, a billion other Reddie fics, so feel free to check those out!
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you're able, and as always, find me on Tumblr at [tinyangryeddie](https://tinyangryeddie.tumblr.com/) or Twitter, where I'm [camerasparring](https://twitter.com/camerasparring)!


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